


Playboy, Philanthropist, Plausible Excuse

by CanterburyTales



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanterburyTales/pseuds/CanterburyTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 1796 Broadway fic challenge. Set just before "447: What Year is It?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playboy, Philanthropist, Plausible Excuse

**Author's Note:**

> Too short, but I wanted to submit something, and no more time so...it is what it is.

Too many machines. Is this the first time a Stark has ever said this? Too many machines. The beeping is fucking annoying. But, hell, it’s still better than this book. Angels, Nat? Seriously?

_“Two of the wings crossed and uncrossed. The message had been rueful, rather than annoyed. Charles Wallace spoke to the tall man. "You are my teacher, and his teacher, too?"_

Hah. _Rueful rather than annoyed._   _My teacher and his teacher._ So now the angel guy sounds like Jarvis in my head? Too many connections. Totally unreal. Steve’s friend, the guy who married Steve’s girl was my second…fuck it, call it as it is…first father. He listened to me, he told me stories, Captain America…and he knew you, Steve. He actually for real knew you. Uncle Dum never even twitched when they met, perfect poker face. They were Howling Commandos; Falsworth taught them to cook fucking bangers and mash. And I…

I was a science experiment. And mom had the same stuff in her veins you do.

Connections. I can’t grok it. Would a fucking mind map make this easier?

Nothing’s going to make this easier. My fucking fault as usual.

Kinda. You needed to be fixed. Not later, now. I panicked but…

Pah. Rationalization. I always fuck things up. It’s my fucking modus operandi.

Consultant. Right. Coulson didn’t know I knew. I knew half way through the first fucking answer to fucking General dick-head Ross with his sneer and fucking uniform medals…god that guy. Just the kind of dick to hunt Bruce over half the world. And I knew I was there to fuck it up.

I enjoyed it. God I wish I’d recorded it. You’d have liked it Steve. I kept my temper. Mostly.  

Yeah, that’s me. Tony Stark. Playboy, Philanthropist, Plausible Excuse. Got an Abomination you just can’t get out? Just add Stark.

Started with Ty. God, that time with Ty. All the times with Ty. And the first time the old man knew, the bill from MIT for cleaning the tapioca out of the pool? The old bastard actually smiled. Chip off the old block after all.

He was dead two months later. Not drunk? Mom? Can’t think about that now.

Yeah, Ty. Fucking dick-weasel. Though he did me a favor. Baintronics was a fucking thorn in my side. Could have been much fucking worse… The explosion was fun. Strange how everyone knew it was Tony fucking Stark’s fault.

Yeah, and. Telling you about the Apollo Splash Club? Back to the old game. Ty trying to fuck me over as usual. Want to go sometime? They’d love you in the Splash Club, they’d fucking bow down and worship you like a god. They’d make you Apollo.

And yeah, Ty was only there because of Tony fucking Stark. All Stark’s fault. God that was some night. All over the labyrinth and out into the streets…still can’t visit Berlin. Not everyone likes foam Mr Stark. Jesus, how to explain…

God, I’d give anything to explain anything to you right now.

And SHIELD can keep the hell out because they’re not getting you now. You’re safe, and the shield (hah!) is up and I could care less what they fucking think. If they try, well, Tony Stark’s unstable and he’ll goddamn give them a demonstration of just how unstable he is.

Breathe. Nat can handle SHIELD. Privitization?  Jesus, too much going on. Gotta be sure because it’s all on me if it fucks up. 100% openness from Nat? Worth a lot. She knew about Hydra and never said. Should have watched the goddamn video. Should have.

No more World Council. Nuke at NY, one way fucking trip to the bad end of the universe, panic attacks…all you, fucking World Council. I know what you are, you dubious fucks. You’d get in bed with Hydra if you thought it was for the _greater good._ You can kiss my red and gold ass.

No more Fury. 50/50. What will I do for fun when I can’t needle Fury and watch that little muscle twitch under his good eye? I’ll have to take up extreme sports.

Don’t pretend it doesn’t amuse you, Steve, cos I know better.  I know that twitch on the corner of your lips. I watch your lips all the time.

Getting you out from SHIELD? Difficult. You’re good PR. You’re good in the field. But it’s more than that. They want your body Steve. Every cell, every drop of blood, every trace of the serum. Such a lack of fucking imagination, when they could want you for the way your muscles move when you’re painted the mansion, or the way you smiled when we danced or how you look into the distance when you’re drawing and your eyes go distant and you put your pencil in your mouth…

Okay. Not helping.

This fucking book isn’t helping. Jesus, Nat, how can you be…well everything you are and have such shit taste in literature?

“Just wake up Steve. Please wake up.”

Find the page. Someone’s coming.

“Wake up and I’ll stop reading this. Promise. 

‘"You are my teacher, and his teacher, too?" "l am." Charles Wallace looked up at the strange dark face which was stern and gentle at the same time. "It's too good to be true. I think I must be having a dream. I wish I’d just go on dreaming and not wake up.”’

Don’t listen. Don’t keep on dreaming.

 _""What is real?""_

I don't what's fucking real any more. Except you, Steve. 

_The Teacher stretched out an arm, and gently touched the bruise on Charles Wallace's cheek, the puffed and discolored flesh under his eye. "You are awake."_

Please wake up, Steve. 

Please. 

Please.


End file.
